Property Of
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: In Tim's defense, all of their clothing looks the same in the dark and when severely sleep deprived. JayTim


**Property Of**

**A Word**: Request for Tim being in a secret relationship with Jay and being called in by Dick. Realizing at the last second he's wearing something of Jay's.

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Tim's operating on about twelve hours less sleep than he needs when Dick calls him into WE at 2 AM for something. Tim's not paying attention to more than the urgency in the man's voice as he rolls over Jason —head stubbornly shoved under a pillow— and fumbles for the clothes he'd dropped a mere hour before. Grunting out something affirmative sounding as he hangs up the phone. Jason doesn't stir and Tim would hit him if he had the energy to do so. He resolves instead to get a conveniently timed headache the next time he gets the energy to get handsy.

Tim looks like a drunk who's slept in his clothes for five nights running as he makes his way to the building. Tim would be more worried about the image he's putting out if the tower wasn't empty of all but the most discrete and well paid security. He won't care at all if Dick's finally found what they need to get ahead of the serial arsonist that's been tearing through Gotham and keeping them all running too hard and long for the past week. Tim's ready to start selling limbs just for the chance to get four uninterrupted hours of sleep.

He's become spoiled over the past few months living with Jason. The older man dragging Tim to bed and forcing him to get at least six hours of rest a night no matter how much Tim might protest he doesn't need it. It's become a routine for Tim to relax to the warmth of Jason's arms around him and the scent of him surrounding Tim. Something that calms his mind right down and eases him into sleep almost every night now.

Leaning against the side of the elevator as he heads up to the floors Dick routinely uses when cases get bad and the Cave is too far away from the city. His eyes slip closed and he can almost smell Jason around him as he drifts. Arms crossed over his chest and counting the floors. The smell is sharp though and Tim opens his eyes baffled because he's not imagining that scent.

Tim looks down at his arms and the long sleeved shirt that hangs off his frame more than it should. It's mostly black except for the bright red letters on the front proudly telling the entire world to fuck off with a demented looking smiley face dotting the exclamation point. Tim has enough time to realize he's wearing one of Jason's _favorite_ shirts before the elevator stops and the doors open.

"Tim!" Dick's voice echoes from down a short hall. The door of a lab open and glowing with flickering light. "I need your eyes on this. See if I'm seeing things or not."

_Oh, shit._ Tim is frozen, because he doesn't have another shirt. He hadn't even tugged on his normal short sleeved shirt under it when he stumbled out of his home earlier. There's no way that he can walk into that lab and not have Dick notice. Not have him make the obvious connection. All of which will lead to a conversation that he's been dreading and avoiding for months now. One that will likely end with a lot of shouting and maybe some bullets fired.

"Tim!" Dick's head pokes out the door and he looks disgruntled. Just as sleep deprived as Tim is. "Come on, I think we might be able to nail this guy tonight."

"Sure," Tim croaks and steps out of the elevator. Following as Dick turns back around. He crosses his arms higher over his chest. Keeping them there and hoping it's enough to hide the text for long enough for him to confirm whatever Dick's found and get out of sight.

Dick's bent over a keyboard, the light of a monitor picking out the bags under his eyes. "Over there," Dick points to a pile of printouts next to the curled up form of Damian. A tight ball of pure spite unconscious in the middle of a table and using a box of latex gloves as a pillow. Tim _itches_ to say something or snap a picture, but he's already pushing his luck.

The report is a detailed timeline for a bus pass. Giving times, dates, and locations for one specific person who makes very good use of the public transportation system. Tim turns his back to Dick and reads it. A pattern forming in his mind that maps out perfectly to each and every incident they've dealt with so far. It's good, almost too perfect to believe, but Tim's been in the game long enough to know that the small details are often what trips people up.

"It's definitely something," Tim says, turning his head and not his body toward Dick. Trying hard to sound casual as the man looks up and seems to zero right in on his face. "Do we have a name?"

"Yeah," Dick leans back and his spine pops with the move. He looks ready to collapse as he gives Tim a grin. Walking towards him. Circling the table to stand in front of Tim. "Babs is running it through her filters. Seeing if there's anything in his past we can use."

Tim hums and turns with Dick. Arms crossing again as he angles his chest away from Dick. Something flickers across his face and Tim feels his stomach drop as Dick _focuses_ on him in a way he really wasn't before. "Tim?"

"Well, until we get her results we've got nothing to go on," Tim's very being is screaming at him to make a break for the door. To forget the elevator and go for the stairs. Up, because Dick usually goes down first. His mind holds him fast though. Telling him to play it cool because Dick will tackle him if he bolts. "Enough time for me to catch a nap," and a change of clothes, "in my office, right?"

Tim turns away and forces his shoulders to relax even as he hears the rattle of Dick vaulting the table. Probably with a showy twist that Tim doesn't see as he tries to put distance between them. "Oh, no, I don't _think_ so," Dick's voice is lighter than it has been in a while. Filled with a rising glee that Tim associates with brotherly 'advice' and merciless teasing. Hands grab him, one arm snaking around his chest under his own crossed arms. Dick hooks his chin over Tim's head -because Tim is in fact the shortest one in the family much to his chagrin- and twists them both away from the open door and it's safety. "I haven't seen you blush this much in far too long. Now, you gonna spill or am I going to have to drag it all out of you."

The spin puts them face to face with a mirror and Tim can see the blush that Dick's grinning about. "I don't know what you're talking about," Tim says even as the increased redness of his cheeks calls him a liar.

Dick's grin gets wider and Tim can't, sadly, attribute all of the manic intent in it to sleep deprivation. "Oh, that's a shade I haven't seen since," Dick breaks off and clearly calculates something in his head. Tim wouldn't be surprised if a telepath were to find a bunch of color coded charts in his mind linking certain colors on certain people to certain situations. Dick's eyes go wide and Tim finds himself spun around. "Steph! Not since-" Dick nearly pouts even as he looks overly elated. "You're dating someone! And you didn't tell me?"

"Uh," the look of triumph in Dick's eyes as he completely fails to protest the scarily accurate guess makes him want to jump out the closest window. Maybe after punching Dick in the head. "Dick, it's not really any of your business."

Which is a mistake Tim wouldn't have made if he wasn't so tired. Dick looks suspicious _and_ offended now. "Tim, _who_ are you dating?"

Tam, Kon, Bart, Cassie. A list of acceptable names run through his head and he almost throws one out to get Dick off the trail, but doesn't at the last second. Panicked as he is, Tim is not going to lie about this. He isn't going to pretend it's not Jason he's seeing, because he lies about so much else. Tim's mouth opens and closes and the suspicion sharpens in Dick's eyes.

A snort from behind them draws them out of their stare off. "It's Todd," Damian looks rumpled and adorable for all that his words spell certain doom for Tim's peace of mind. A crease from sleeping on a box making even his most fearsome scowl look cute. "It is Todd's awful shirt he is wearing and trying to hide from you after all."

Dick stares at Damian. A look of incomprehension on his face as Tim groans, letting his arms fall. Dick's head snaps back around and he stares at the shirt. Long and hard. His voice is lost and confused as he plucks at the offending shirt, "What? How, no, _why_?"

"Tt," Damian flows off the table with unnatural grace and heads out of the room. "Really, Grayson, why are you acting so surprised?" The boy stops at the door to glare back at them both. "They have been courting for _years_ now. Eventually they were bound to take it further."

"What!?" Dick's eyes are wide and a little horrified. Which is fine, because they match Tim's feeling perfectly as Damian walks out.

"That's not- No," Tim breaks off an explanation he really doesn't have ready and rushes to the door. Shouting at Damian's back, "No! Trying to _kill_ each other does not count as _courting_ Damian!"

Damian gives him a _look_ just before the elevator doors close. "Of course it does, Drake. How else are you know if your lover is worthy to stand by your side than to test them?"

Tim gapes a bit at the now closed doors. Questions he doesn't want to ask or know the answers to swirling in his head. All of which get dumped the second Dick speaks up behind him. Voice firm and worried, "Tim, we need to talk about this."

There's a window in the next lab. He can crash through it in under ten seconds if he really tries. Tim looks at the other door wistfully before turning to face his brother.

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End file.
